


In the Wilderness of the World

by ishie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-27 23:58:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishie/pseuds/ishie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Treat her well and you'll never know a truer friend," her father had said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Wilderness of the World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smaragdbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragdbird/gifts).



> This fic goes slightly AU at the end of Sansa's final scene from "Fire and Blood" (more book!scene than show). No spoilers for the books, though! Title from a quote by Robert Louis Stevenson.
> 
> All hail my fabulous beta, who knows who she is and what miracles she wrought ♥

"Treat her well and you'll never know a truer friend," her father said.

The direwolf pup dangled by her scruff from his gloved hand, a gray bundle of fur and whimpers. A soft pink tongue and yellow eyes peeked out from under the fur and Sansa was lost.

Sansa knew just what to say: "oh, _thank_ you, Father" and "I will, Father, I _promise_ ". She didn't even need Septa Mordane's nudge to bring up the pretty words.

The pup licked her hand and she giggled.

"She's so lovely, Father," Sansa said, again. "Thank you ever so much."

When he smiled, his whole face creased like one of Arya's shifts, left too long on the floor of her chamber.

 

 

 

 

In only a few days, the pup had almost doubled in size. She followed Sansa wherever she went and waited patiently when Sansa told her to stay.

But she ate so greedily, making noises like a suckling pig. And when she was full, she snuffled softly as Sansa picked her up.

Sansa pressed her face against the direwolf's neck and breathed in the dry, sweet smell of her fur.

"What do you call her?"

She kept her eyes on the wriggling bundle in her arms. Jon Snow had never been the favorite of her brothers. If she'd had more, he wouldn't be her favorite _half-_ brother either. His face was too pointy, like Arya's, and he smiled just like their father, like he knew things she would never say out loud.

Sansa favored her mother, everyone said so. The Tully eyes and hair, the elegant hands, and the same cool distance whenever Jon Snow was nearby.

Everyone knew he was a bastard, even the Stark children. The _proper_ Starks. They'd heard the whispers from people too scared to say it outright.

Jon was a bastard, just like Aric Snow in the winter village, whose hands were always dry and cracked, even at the height of the summer when the very stones of Winterfell would sweat.

Sansa thought that Jon must have done something else, something very bad besides, something that clung to him like smoke.

She was to be a lady someday, a very great one, destined for a marriage like in the songs, and so she used her lady mother as a guide. Her hair and carriage, her dress and speech; all of it she studied and took for her own.

Even if she hadn't, it would be hard to miss the way Catelyn's eyes narrowed when Jon Snow entered a room. Her voice would sharpen, just enough for Sansa to notice, though no one else ever seemed to.

"Sansa," Jon said. There was a crease between his brows that she only ever seemed to see when he spoke to her or her lady mother. A slight, puzzled smile turned up his lips. "What do you call her?"

The pup in her arms wriggled and twisted. Sansa lost her grip entirely and the direwolf fell.

"Oh!" she cried, reaching to catch her. But her hands closed on empty air. Jon had snatched the wolf right away from her, holding her cuddled in one hand up to his face.

"Maybe you should call her Casella the Cunning!" he laughed. "You used to love that song about her escape from—"

"I never did," Sansa snapped, pulling the pup from his hand. She stroked her fur and let the wolf lick her chin with hardly a flinch. "And her name is Lady."

The grin slipped from Jon's narrow face almost as quickly as it had appeared. His gray eyes flashed, just for a moment, and then all was calm again as he nodded.

"Lady it is," he said, with none of the lightness that usually colored his voice. He sounded as wintry as his name but he reached out and stroked Lady's ears. She whined happily, and Sansa shivered and felt ashamed.

She forced a smile to her face. "What do you call yours?"

"I call her Ghost."

"It's a lovely name," Sansa said, even though it wasn't.

But Jon's narrow face flushed with pleasure as he looked down at the snow-white pup sitting at his feet, and Sansa's smile came easier.

 

 

 

 

Sansa thought she heard her father's voice as Sandor Clegane knelt under Septa Mordane's tarred head and wiped the blood from her mouth.

 _Treat her well_ , Ned Stark said, _and you'll never know a truer friend._

But he'd lied. They all lied.

"When you're done playing nursemaid, Dog, you can put her back in her cage," Joffrey spat. "I'm tired of looking at her ugly face. Ser Meryn, come with me. I want to hunt."

A moment later, they were gone.

Sansa worried at the split in her lip. Blood oozed into her mouth, salt and copper. The blood of a thousand Starks ran through her veins and down her throat when she swallowed.

She turned back to the outer parapet. There was no worm-lipped prince to make her do it this time. She turned her face up to the sun and wondered how long it would be until she stared unseeing from a pike next to her father and her septa.

"Let's go, girl," Sandor rasped behind her.

He was so fearsome, with his terrible burnt face. Sansa could hardly stand to be near him, though she knew she couldn't let on. He never lied, not to her, but she could. She had to. She imagined that he could see right through her, down through flesh and blood all the way through to her bones.

She wondered if he could see the coldness that gripped her heart.

"Come on," he growled and grabbed her arm. From the corner of her eye, Sansa could see the ruin of his lip jumping.

There was nowhere for her to run. His fingers wrapped all the way around her upper arm. Not like Joffrey's grip, crushing the bones of her hand. He led her away from the ramparts and down the thousand thousand steps into the lower gatehouse.

Sansa stretched her lip, feeling the raw skin pull and split anew. She wished she had a cloth to wipe the fresh blood away.

"Why did you stop me?"

His hand tightened, just for an instant, but he did not answer.

"I could have done it," she insisted. "He was standing right there, right at the edge." She didn't care who heard, she told herself, but her throat closed tight with fear once the words were out.

"You'd best learn to keep your tongue in your mouth," he rasped, "before Ser Ilyn saves you the trouble."

But his hand was gentle on her arm, and Sansa smiled.


End file.
